Rock Bottom
by DjDangerLove
Summary: A story spawned from a two-shot in The Stories That Bind Us, when Neal is left injured after an operation he finds himself stuck in rock bottom while Peter tries to get him out. No slash, just the brotherly (and sometimes father/son) love.
1. Rock Bottom Part 1

Rock Botton Part 1

Rock bottom is often regarded as a dark place with air so thick of desolation and hopelessness that it's hard to breathe. Broken dreams mold cracks in the foundation below and fears swirl in a cold mist above your head.

"You need to hit rock bottom before you can change." Neal's own voice whispered inside his head, the conversation coming back to him full force from the Robin Hoodie case.

Neal blinked against the darkness surrounding him. Neal had hit rock bottom hard. The problem was he wasn't changing. He didn't need to.

"What are you going to do, Caffrey?" A gruff voice called from the corner before stepping into the luminance of the only light in the room. The man was heavy set, but not out of shape by any means. Every time he got close to Neal, the conman did his best not to imagine the man taking his arms or legs and snapping them like twigs. Scars marred his face, giving a summary of a bad past Neal didn't want to know about or add to.

Neal swallowed hard and felt the tips of his shoes drag against the ground as his hanging body swayed ever so slightly at the trembling in his wrists and arms from where they were bound by rope around the ceiling rafters. The man stepped closer, making a fist that cracked his knuckles. The bruises already painting Neal's skin ached as if they too could tell what was about to happen.

"I'll ask you again." The man snarled as he grabbed Neal's chin so he couldn't turn away. "Where's Agent Burke?"

Despite his battered body, Neal looked him square in the eye and graciously accepted what would come to him.

"I'll refuse to tell you." Neal spat with a bloodied grin. "_Again." _

Neal did his best to check out of reality as a pair of fists drilled into battered ribs.

* * *

"Let's see if you've come to your senses, shall we?"

Neal just let his head hang between his bounded arms until the man grabbed his hair and pulled it up. He did his best to glare through half lidded eyes as he bit back a groan.

"Where's Agent Burke?"

Neal set his jaw.

The man turned his head to the side in surprise. "I thought you'd be smarter than this, Caffrey."

Neal was barely conscious enough to recognize the fist connecting to his cheek bone.

"Remember Caffrey, you did this to yourself. All you had to do was use that tongue of yours."

The man walked over to his hanging body once more and Neal did his best to still his trembling form. The knife in the man's hand shined brightly in the dull light of the room. It came up and traced his jawline before resting against the corner of his mouth. "I guess since you won't use it, you won't be needing it."

Neal turned his head away but only for the man's hand to come up and catch his chin to force it back. A whimper ghosted across Neal's lips as the blade ran threateningly across them.

"What's the matter, Caffrey?" The man's chuckle echoed through the room and it made Neal shudder.

"O-ok! Okay! I- I will tell...tell you wh-where he is!"

"A little late for that."

"Y-you want...to kn-know where h-he is...if...if I d-don't tell you...wh-who will?"

"I'm sure we could find where the FBI is hiding that precious wife of his. We could flip her real fast."

"B-but I'll tell y-you now."

The man smirked as his hand tightened around Neal's chin. "If you lie to me, your tongue won't be the only thing I cut off. Understood?"

Neal swallowed thickly and let his gaze wander just behind the man for a moment longer as if trying to decide what to do. Neal nodded.

"Good. Now, where is our dear friend Peter?"

Neal sucked in a shaky breath, before setting a dark gaze on the man. "Behind you."

"Wha-" The man's question was cut off by a butt of a gun slamming into his temple.

* * *

"Jesus, Neal!" Peter said as his hands cautiously hovered just above the younger man's battered body hanging from the rafters by his wrists. He felt the tremors in his fingers as he prepared himself to touch damaged flesh. The thought twisted the air in his throat and it caught in his windpipe. "When will you ever learn to do as you're told and stay in the van?" Peter's voice did its best to convey humor and a sense of calmness, but the tremors in his unsure fingers rode out the panic on his voice. He placed a hand on the side of Neal's face and had to swallow hard as his hand slipped against the pale skin stained with blood. His fingers wrapped gently around the younger man's neck while his thumb rested on his bruised cheekbone. The fingers on his left hand felt for a pulse while he stared at Neal's closed eyelids, but something else reassured Peter that Neal was still alive.

"W-when you don't show up."

The response was so choked and tight that it barely reached the agent's ears, but the injured man's jaw was in Peter's palm and the older man felt the slight movement as Neal had tried to speak.

"Diana! He's conscious! Get a paramedic in here now! Jones! Help me get him down!" Peter yelled over his shoulder. He didn't miss feeling the slight flinch that ran through the younger man as he did so. He lowered his voice back to being just above a whisper. "Hey, it's alright. It's alright, Neal. We're going to get you down. Just stay with me. Okay?"

He felt the tremors in Neal's frame surge as Jones walked up holding a chair to stand on so he could cut the ropes around Neal's wrists that had him dangling from the rafters.

"Neal, can you do that for me?" Peter insisted, as he watched Jones grab the rope above Neal's hands. "We're going to get you down and try to be as gentle as possible, but it might be a little painful. But I need you to stay with me, got it?" Neal's frame shook harder but the young man didn't respond. "Neal?" He tried a little more forceful. "Do you understand?" Peter felt a brief nod in his hand placed on the side of Neal's face. He looked up at Jones and gave him the go ahead nod. "Be easy, but do it quickly. He's going into shock."

Jones brought the knife to the rope and sawed away with one hand while the other held the rope. Peter wrapped an arm around Neal's lower waist to catch him, but suddenly the consultant's eyes sprang open as he tried to muffle the scream trying to escape him.

Whether the blood on his lips was already there or Neal drew it out by biting it, Peter couldn't be sure, but the agent didn't have time to dwell on it because Neal's unconscious body was falling away from the rafters.


	2. Rock Bottom Part 2

**AN: Thanks for reading and for the reviews, follows and alerts. It means a lot! **

* * *

**Rock Bottom Part 2**

He was running.

He couldn't feel his heart pounding in his ribcage or hear the soles of his Italian leather shoes hit the pavement, but he knew he was running. The caress of the wind was absent upon his skin as he ran, but the city, as beautiful and captivating as it was, was reduced to nothing more than a blur.

He was running faster than he ever had in his life. When the muscles in one's legs don't mimic the flames of hell, a person can run as fast as their heart so desires. The aspiration in his golden boy heart hidden behind a joker's mask carried him quick. But the dogs were still on his heels.

Dogs. Black, strong and vicious even without the foam at their snarling mouths. They were after him, chasing after one of their own. Their teeth ripped the hem of his pants, bored into his ankle and drawing the blood from his torn skin. He was on the ground without feeling the impact and looking up at the gnashing teeth of the beast on top of him. The white foam descended down from the slimy corners of a hungry mouth and onto his neck, running down like fondling fingers. He cringed, before forcing his eyes open, staring at the black orbs savoring him.

_You know Caffrey, _the voice belonging to the man that had strung him up from the rafters whispered in his ear, _you may have been let off your leash but you're still in a fenced in yard. And sure, you've got an owner that scratches you behind the ears from time to time and let's you inside when it gets too cold out, but you're still a mutt. Nuzzle the owners, but when their backs are turned sink your teeth into something that isn't yours or shit on the carpet. Now, if you don't tell me where that mutt-loving Agent Burke is, well...let's just say I'm going to enjoy the sound of the pathetic little whimper from a kicked puppy. _

Then he felt it. The pain churning in his sides, the grinding of ribs loud and excruciating. And that's all he could do. Whimper, soft and shallow like a mutt left out in the rain. He stared up at the dog on top of him and saw his reflection in the ebony of pupils. He was milliseconds away from allowing the craving teeth the pleasure of sinking into his flesh when suddenly the dog backed away.

The sound of another voice, much more forceful and loud than the previous voice, must have scared it off. To be honest, it scared him too.

* * *

Peter was on his knees at Neal's side. The younger man was lying on his back, eyes opened in slits, staring at something Peter, nor Diana could see. His calloused hands shook as they hovered over Neal's battered body like a rookie holding his drawn weapon on a suspect for the first time.

"Boss?" Diana questioned him, not his actions. The sound coming from between them was pitiful and almost familiar. It reminded Peter of the time Satchmo stepped on a nail while they were doing some home repairs a few years back. Whimpering, scared and uncertain, begging for someone just to do something.

Peter's hands stopped shaking and found Neal's grimy, matted hair.

"Easy, Buddy. Easy. Just take it easy. We're here, okay? We're going to take care of you. It's almost over." The mantra spilled easily from his tongue, it was like acting out the memory of taking care of Satchmo except his chest felt ten times heavier now than it did then. He felt compelled to say more when the whimpering didn't subside, but Diana was staring at him as if he said anymore he would make their situation all too real.

"I'm going to check on the ambulance, see how far out they are." Her voice was stern, though Peter knew it was her way of still feeling in control. He didn't bring up the fact that two minutes ago Jones had come over the radio and said they were ten minutes out. He just let her go, never taking his attention from Neal.

The ex-con eyes had drifted to the side, unfocused and alarming still staring at the remainder of the rope that had previously bound him and a pool of blood that had once ran through his veins. Peter gently felt around the younger man's neck for the thready pulse beneath discolored skin.

"Hey. Come on, Kid. Eyes on me, alright?"

Blown pupils were turned towards him without any direction, but he felt compelled to smile at the effort.

"There. See? Better already, huh? Tell me I'm wrong."

Neal flinched and whimpered louder.

* * *

Neal tried to follow the dog as it retreated, just to make sure it wasn't a trick. He watched its stoic body disappear into the shadows, before he felt another presence at his side. He turned his head to look, but nothing was there except a faint blur. There was a sound in his ears, like the swarming of bees, then like the sound of gunfire Peter's voice was there.

"Tell me I'm wrong."

He flinched. The shadows swarmed and swiveled until he was at June's two years ago, standing in front of Peter with a heart cracking underneath his skin with each mention of Kate or the music box. He shrugged his shoulders with physical ease, but they were heavy otherwise.

"You're wrong."

He hadn't lied. He had just obeyed. Obeyed a command like any needy, desperate dog would do.

A laugh of disbelief was his reward. It felt good, knowing there was still a challenge. Of all the tricks he could do, only an owner was capable of knowing whether or not it was his best. Peter knew it wasn't.

"I don't understand you. I gave you a shot at a better life."

The shadows swirled like black ink in water and he was back, lying in the street whimpering as the remaining dogs circled around him, but this time Peter was kneeling beside him, looking at him expectantly. The dogs nipped at his sides, teeth barring into his arms, waiting for him to give into them, to admit to the mutt he truly was.

He kept his eyes on Peter, allowing his mind to think of the life he was being drug into, a life without Peter.

"It's not the life I want." It wasn't a lie this time and it wasn't a lie then.

* * *

Peter wasn't sure how long Neal had been staring up at him, but however long it was, it was long enough that when Neal's whimpers formed an actual sentence, Peter almost went backwards.

"It's not the life I want."

Peter had no idea what Neal was talking about, but suddenly his name was being called out, torn from a throat already raw.

"Peter! No! No, no, no! Peter!"

All the agent could do was stare at the younger man as his back arched painfully from the bloodstained floor until the whimpers returned between whispers of his name.

"Please, Peter."

The shaking of his hands returned as they found the younger man's matted hair again.

"Okay, Neal. Okay. Whatever it is, okay."

His name quit being spoken.

* * *

Neal had denied the dogs their meal. He refused to accept their way of life. He told them it wasn't the life he wanted, but they weren't satisfied. At once, they attacked him. Bit in to him, savored him, drug him away. Neal tried to buck and twist out of their jaw-tight hold. He called and screamed for Peter, begging the man to do something, anything to save him. It wasn't working and the dogs almost had him in the shadows. He felt the whimpers escape his throat again and dared to call Peter one last time.

"Please, Peter."

He was halfway in the shadows, when Peter pulled him away from the dogs.

"Okay, Neal. Okay. Whatever it is, okay."

He felt the agent's hand in his hair, not scratching behind his ears like that of a dog, just mussing it like a father comforting a fevered child. The warmth of calloused hands was offered to him without limits making him realize the only way the cold could get to him was if he himself let it. And sure, the weight on his ankle, for ever how shattered and broken it was, was his fenced in yard, but how could one be worried about what was on the other side of forbidden boundaries, when you had the biggest prize of all within your reach?

"Anything, Buddy. I swear. Whatever it is, kid, you can have it, just please stay with me, alright?"

It was an odd thing for Peter to say to him. He had begged to stay with Peter mere moments ago. Why would he ever leave?

He sure didn't want to, but that's the funny thing about rock bottom. When you're there, you never get what you want.

* * *

**AN: Okay so here is the deal, I had to stop writing and I know coming back to this and attempting for the exact same feel to make this flow would be impossible, so there will be another part to this, with less angst and more comforting, I swear. I hope you guys are still into it and this chapter didn't disappoint. Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think! :)**


	3. Rock Bottom Part 3

**AN: This story spawned out of what was originally a two-shot for The Stories That Bind Us, and since there's at least going to be another chapter after this one, I figured I would give it its own story. Thanks to every one who has been reading in TSTBS, following it and reviewing it. I hope you all enjoy this chapter! **

* * *

Rock Bottom Part 3

A steady rhythm of clicks was what the world had been reduced to. Time wasn't made up of sunrises or portions of the moon cutting a slice in the night sky. Time was a click, hollow and secure.

The sound was all Peter noticed of the clock. He didn't even know where the clock was hanging, but it didn't matter. All he needed was the noise, because with every click that dripped off of every second, Neal's heart monitor clicked twice. That's what the world was made of. Clicks of time. Clicks of life. Clicks.

Peter sat in the chair beside Neal's bed. It wasn't a cliched hard, plastic one with a color resembling something out of a bedpan or vomit bucket. It was a cushioned recliner in the shade of a welcoming navy that did nothing to support his aching body, but offered the only comfort that he could really grasp. Proximity. Neal was next to him, breathing and oblivious, sleeping in a heavily drug induced sleep. Peter turned on his side, pulled the stiff blanket up over his shoulders and closed his eyes letting the clicks of the world lull him to sleep.

* * *

By now, the clicks had become silent. Like how one's blinks become an unconscious motion, the clicks went by without much notice except the fact that Peter's world was still intact. Neal was still breathing.

Peter was standing by the window for the fourth night in a row. The moon hid behind the neighboring wing of the hospital, poking out like a child waiting to be found in a game of Hide and Seek. The agent paid no mind to such deep thinking, instead he focused his attention on the traffic driving by. Taxis, cars, company vehicles. They all went by like ants working in a colony, all moving together in the same direction on a one way street. It was hypnotizing, along with the dim light in the room, the humming of the medical machines and the reassuring clicks that occasionally Peter would set his ears back to listening to just out of a sense of responsibility.

He wasn't sure how long he stood there, though it didn't matter if Neal was still there as well, but when the injured man's nightshift nurse, a woman a few years older than the agent stopped by, Peter was brought out of his momentary trance. He turned with his weary smile in perfect place.

"Hey, Linda."

"Hi, Peter. How're you doing?"

Peter stuffed his hands in the pockets of his pants, shrugging his shoulders and pitching his head towards Neal's sleeping form. "I think that question is supposed to be directed at him."

Linda sighed. The conversation had now become a formality. After helping Peter get the clearance he needed to stay with Neal at all times, except during tests and thorough examinations, she felt a connection with the agent and his charge and she wanted to offer any comfort she could.

"Well, while I check him over why don't you answer the question."

"He just sleeps. Doesn't do anything. Nothing. Just like...like he can't." Peter answered, stepping closer to the bed to watch the woman's nursing hands poke and prod at Neal. Linda raised an eyebrow at him.

"And what about you?"

Peter didn't respond at first, instead just stared at the younger man. His hand came to rest on top of Neal's head. Without looking up, he replied, "Same as him."

* * *

The world was black, a solid color he blended in to. He could feel a twinge of pain quiver throughout his body, but as he tried to look down to asses himself he was met with the same crushing reality. He was still the color of the world around him. Everything was black, except the white fog that burst into the air with the sound of a wet snarl. He jerked and took a step back as he watched the puff of white fog become a steady cloud of hot breath escaping from between sharp teeth.

Neal felt the quivering pain in his body begin to pulse, getting stronger for a bone crushing second before dimming again. He knew he had to run, to get away from the beast he had been running from for what felt like forever, but where was he supposed to go? What was the point? Everything was black. He had no direction. No one. Nothing. He couldn't do anything.

He wanted to sink down to the ground he couldn't see. Just give up, but a buzzing sound began in his ears, annoying at first and what he thought was a tactic used by the beast stalking him. He shook his head and attempted to swat at his ears. It didn't work. It just got louder and louder, until it wasn't buzzing at all. It was strange sounds. Something that had Neal's brow furrowing in confusion, but his mind reeling. For it to be so strange it had an air of familiarity.

Neal shook his head more frantically trying to clear the jumbled mess. He swatted at his ears again and suddenly the sound became language. Random words, some Neal couldn't quite recall the meaning of, some that stuck in his ears and reverberated until he could pick out a new one.

He turned a cautious eye towards the dog as more words started swirling around in his mind. The beast stood there, no longer showing its teeth, but snarling breath still rolling out. Words began to string together with each passing second, words became fragments of thoughts Neal couldn't understand and those fragments became sentences he just couldn't grasp, but the dog was backing away from him and Neal wanted to hear more, wanted it to be louder. But suddenly it all stopped. The dog growled and took a step towards him.

Neal shook his head. "No, no, no, no." He smacked his ears in a desperate attempt to make the language come back and when that failed, he started pulling, tugging at them and squirming frantically trying to find the sound again.

The dog was slowly stalking towards him, teeth exposed once more. He kept pulling at his ears, but to no avail. He could feel the dog's breath against him now as he closed his eyes. He pulled desperately one last time at his ears and nearly fainted when the sound came back.

But the sound wasn't the only thing he got.

White. Big flashes of it, mixed with other colors his brain couldn't process. He closed his eyes again, clenching them tight and tried concentrating on the sound, letting it wash over him in big waves, until it stopped again.

"No." He grounded out. "No, no. Come back. Please come back. Don't stop. Please don't stop." He kept tugging at his ears until his pleas were answered.

* * *

The fifth night had come and gone, as did Peter for only five hours with commands from Elizabeth to at least go home and shower and sleep in his own bed for a night. The sixth night Peter was back, sitting in his recliner attempting to do his crossword. He sighed heavily and glanced over at Neal, "How is it that you can still irritate me while I'm trying to do my crossword even when you're unconscious?" He smirked and tossed the paper on the nightstand while standing up from his recliner and moving over to the cliched plastic chair in the room. He pulled it up to the bed and sat down. He propped his elbows up on the bed and stared at Neal for a minute, before letting out another sigh and hanging his head.

"Come on, Neal. Just wake up, huh?"

Nothing happened of course. Peter didn't expect it to. Make no mistake, he hadn't given up on Neal. Not even a little bit. But when Neal woke up, Peter knew it wouldn't be in compliance to anything Peter asked of him, because Neal has never listened to Peter before, this time should be no different. So, Peter stopped talking, despite constant suggestions from Linda and various nurses that a conversation might just be what Neal needed.

Then Neal Caffrey did the unexpected, like always. He twitched. Fingers at first. Then his head. Peter was stunned, understandably so. He blinked. Once, twice, the third time was pushing it because suddenly the idea that if he didn't do something Neal would fall back into whatever, wherever, his brilliantly childish yet, painstakingly smart mind had been for the past six days.

Peter had stood up, knees cracking, and leaned over the bed railing. "Neal? You with me?"

Peter silently thanked the heavens above that the FBI had improved his reaction speed, otherwise he would have been supporting a broken nose because once again, Neal Caffrey did the unexpected. His hand swiftly came flying up off the mattress, IV line and all in one swinging motion, and swatting at his ear.

The weary agent caught the injured man's wrist gently in his calloused hand, chuckling lightly with relief. "Easy, buddy. Always the dramatics with you, isn't it?"

Neal stilled for a moment, as if already back in the land Peter wasn't allowed to go to, and Peter waited silently. Seconds passed, a steady string of clicks dripped off of them, then Neal's head suddenly began twitching back and forth and nimble fingers tugged at his ears.

"nn." The sound spluttered out between dry lips. "Nn. Nn. No."

Peter's hand was still around the younger man's arm but he wasn't preventing Neal from tugging at his ears. He couldn't. He was frozen. But luckily, as gargled syllables sloshed out of Neal's uncoordinated mouth, Peter's other arm was able to find the Nurse's call button.

His heart hammered with every click of the world, for now the seconds seemed to drag and the heart monitor was picking up the slack. Peter watched Neal pull and tug at his ears while trying to maneuver his other hand to wrap around Neal's other wrist.

"Hey, hey, hey. What're you doing?" Peter whispered as he leaned over the twitching boy, fearing that pain was the only reason Neal would be bothered by his ears. "Calm down, Neal. Okay? It's alright."

Neal's fingers stopped their pulling, but blue eyes still remained hidden even though he could feel the quakes of Neal's arms in his hands.

"That's it. But stay with me."

The sound of the door opening didn't prompt Peter to take his eyes off his friend. He just spoke to her, skipping their usual conversation. "He was pulling at his ears and I think trying to say 'No'. Nobody said anything about his ears being damaged. What's wrong with him?"

"It's alright, Peter. He's just coming out of all the drugs in his system. He's not exactly firing on all cylinders." Peter threw her a glare, as he released one of Neal's wrists and put it back by the man's side and she quickly added, "But if something is wrong with his ears, which I honestly don't think that there is, we will fix it."

She turned smiled what she hoped was a tension-easing smile and turned her attention to Neal. "Mr. Caffrey? Are you with us? Come on now, don't keep a lady waiting. I've been dying to see those blue eyes of yours that your family seems to think are so charming." A few moments passed and sure enough, even in their dulled, drugged-clouded state, his eyes were revealed to her like pearls in an oyster. He blinked sluggishly at her, but suddenly clamped them shut. "Don't tease me, sweetheart. Come on, keep 'em opened."

Peter glanced between them. He didn't want to take his eyes off of Neal, but every time Linda spoke to him, she spoke with such love and care that a woman, who had only known a man who hadn't even been conscious for six days, shouldn't have. It was only when she said, "There they are." that Peter turned his attention back to Neal and smiled.

She placed a hand on his forehead, leaning closer to him, inspecting his eyes with admiring, not flirtatious, ones of her own. "Yep. Those are in fact the most stunning blue eyes I've ever seen and trust me I've seen many in my days." She smiled at him and leaned farther away, not minding that his eyes were fluttering once more. Peter glanced at her, as if she didn't know Neal was leaving to go back to his own little world again, but she nodded at the both of them to tell them it was okay.

She finished up his check up with gentle, motherly hands. "His ears look fine, Peter. But I'll notify his doctor and once he comes out of the medicine more, he'll have a more extensive look at them." She turned to leave but stopped at the door. "He's going to be fine, Peter."

* * *

Two hours, or seventy-two hundred clicks, passed before Peter was woken up from his light slumber in the recliner. Syllables spluttering out between all the clicks again had been the culprit. He removed himself quickly from the prickles of the blanket and the cushions of the recliner to stand next to the bed.

"Neal?" He questioned as he grabbed Neal's wrist that was pulling on his ear again. Blue, glazed eyes slowly rolled up to him. He grinned. "What're you doing to your ears, buddy? Do they hurt?" He kept his voice soft just in case, but loud enough to get through the drug-induced fog surrounding the younger man's brain.

A lopsided grin, one that would have looked so out of place on every facade Neal could come up with, was displayed with heart-warming perfection on the ex-con's unguarded face. Neal shook his head and let his fingers quit their tugging.

Peter's grin never faltered, but his brows furrowed. "No? Then why are you pulling on them?"

Neal's eyes slowly began their retreat behind heavy eyelids. "Sss 'cause makes ...you talk."

And as Neal went back to his own little world, Peter's world was once again reduced to a steady rhythm of clicks.

* * *

**AN: I hate to end it there because I love what's coming up next, but I have two papers to write for school and I wanted to get something up before the weekend, although I plan (fingers crossed) to have the next chapter finished and posted before Monday. I hope you enjoyed this chapter and I hope you'll stick around for more. Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think! :)**


	4. Rock Bottom Part 4

**I was halfway done with this chapter this morning, then I devastatingly lost all of it and had to start all over, so it didn't turn out as I had hoped, because I was still frustrated about the whole thing while retyping it. haha. I hope you enjoy it anyway. And thanks for reading, adding this story to your lists and reviewing. **

* * *

**Rock Bottom Part 4**

"What's tonight's topic?" Linda asked as she stepped into the room, clipboard in hand. Peter, in his usual chair beside the bed, glanced up from the newspaper in his hand as she crossed the room.

"Just reading the scout reports for spring training."

"Baseball again?" She questioned, checking Neal's IV in the meantime. "You know conversations are supposed to be enjoyable for both people, right?"

A sigh escaped from Peter as he stretched his back by sitting up straight while throwing his gaze at Neal. "Yeah, and both are supposed to be conscious."

"Well, you know he can hear you. He-"

"Yeah...yeah, I know." Peter cut her off and focused his wandering attention back on the newspaper in his hand. Linda finished up her routine and walked around to Peter's side of the bed. After laying her clipboard down on the small table tray, she slid her hands into the front pockets of her scrubs.

"Peter, sometimes...being here for long periods of time," she noticed him stiffen, "...cabin fever can set in and we start to.."

"I think you've been talking to my wife again."

"She's a great conversationist."

Peter rubbed a hand down his weary face. "Better than me."

Linda smiled and picked up her clipboard, rummaging the papers a bit. She was at the door when she finally responded. "Oh,Peter?" She waited until the agent looked up. "That may or may not be true, but Neal doesn't pull his ears to hear her speak." A smile crept onto Peter's face as slowly as Linda closed the door behind her.

He turned back to Neal. "It's not fair, you know...Linda taking your side. She doesn't know how many conversations I've had to go through about eighteenth century painters and, and...and how many stakeouts I've had to endure of you talking about crap I don't even understand." He sighed while standing up, knees cracking, and rubbed a hand down the back of his head. He paced the small room, Linda's cabin fever comment bouncing around between the gears turning in his head. He turned back around, heading back to his chair, when he spotted something laying on the table tray. Picking it up, the memory of Linda picking up her clipboard from the table moments ago playing in his head, he couldn't help but genuinely laugh out loud for the first time in days. In his hand, he held a book titled _Art: Inside and Out._

He opened the title page to find a small hand written note in familiar handwriting.

_Thought you could use some normality. I told Linda to give it to you when she thought was best. And yes, this is my attempt at saving Neal from listening to baseball statistics. I'll see the both of you in the morning. _

_Love you,_

_Elizabeth_

He stood there a moment, speechless, though not surprised that his wife knew him better than he knew himself. After another few seconds of silently admiring his amazing wife, he sat back down in his chair, turned to page one and began reading out loud.

* * *

Elizabeth peeked through the small window of Neal's door and smiled. Turning the handle slowly, she entered the room as quietly as she could. She made her way to her husband sleeping as what she figured as soundly as possible in the recliner, pulling the blanket around his socked feet back up to his waist. Next, she went to Neal's bedside, placing one hand on the bed railing, the other in his tangled hair. She was surprised to see two cloudy blue eyes split their cover.

"Heyyy." She drug out softly. "Welcome back."

Neal smiled lazily at her, though she was fairly certain he had no idea what she said, because even though two days ago they had passed the miracle milestone of Neal waking up, the younger man still wasn't coherent. The doctors had assured both Peter, and her, that it was due to the medicine hiding the pain of his broken ribs and sternum, but she found it hard to believe a person with a piece of paper from a prestigious medical school and a white lab coat knew more about Neal's well being, than her, than someone who cared about him when he was outside the walls of a hospital.

She was brought out of her pondering by blue eyes suddenly becoming cloudier. Neal started curling his hand into the bed sheet beside his leg. She took it in one of her own while letting the other retrace a path in his hair.

"What's wrong?"

"B'...me." The young man mumbled, feebly trying to pull his hand away from her. She pulled it closer to her instead, and began inspecting it. She found nothing wrong except a small needle sticking in it covered by a piece of medical tape.

"What was that?"

"B...bit...me."

Elizabeth chuckled softly, oblivious, just like everyone else, to the world Neal was in. The injured man's brow furrowed and he brought up his other hand to swat at his ears.

"Bit...me. D...dog bit me. Do it...'gain."

Elizabeth ceased laughing and squeezed his hand. "Oh, no. No. It's an IV in the back of your hand. It's giving you medicine, making you feel better. Nothing bit you...or is going to. You're okay."

Neal fisted his eye with his free hand, before swatting at his ear again. "Don'...don't feel 'kay." Then he began pulling at his ear, but the action's significance was lost on Elizabeth because Peter hadn't told her about that particular incident.

"I know, sweetie. I know. But you will." She kept mussing his hair until he was back in his own little world.

* * *

Peter woke up to a familiar scent. A lovely scent. He turned on his side, stretching his arm out to wrap around her, but was met with empty space, then the arm of the recliner he suddenly realized he was in. He rubbed his face and sat up, squinting at the sun shining through the slits in the blinds on the window. He saw Neal in his usual state, then noticed the source of the scent he had woken up to. Elizabeth.

He smiled and stood from the recliner, taking the two steps to the chair she was seated in and wrapping his arms around her. "Morning, hon."

She smiled and kissed him. "Morning, hon."

"How long have you been here?"

"A little over an hour now, I guess."

Peter sat down in the chair beside her, taking her hand in his, relishing in the warmth of a hand in his. "Why didn't you wake me?" After receiving a glare from his wife he added, "Right. Has Neal been up?"

"Yeah, for a few minutes, but completely out of it. Talking about some dog biting him and doing it again?" She chuckled. "I don't know. He was like fiddling with his ears or something. I have-"

"He was?" Peter cut her off, removing his hand from hers and standing up. He surprised her by leaning over the bed railing and putting his hand on Neal's head.

She twisted her face in confusion. "Um, yeah...why? Is something wrong with them?"

"No, no." He called over his shoulder, still not taking his eyes off his consultant. "Neal? What's this about a dog biting you, huh?"

"Peter, he's asleep. What are you doing?"

The agent froze, suddenly embarrassed.

"Hon?"

He sighed and turned to her. "The first time...the first time Neal woke up, he was...pulling at his ears. I thought maybe something was wrong with them, like he was in pain. I told Linda, she told the doctor. They checked them, but found nothing. Turns out...they weren't hurting him. He said the reason he was pulling on them was..."

Elizabeth waited a few seconds for him to finish, but then felt the need to prompt him. "Was what?"

"Because it...it made me talk." Peter sighed and plopped back down in the chair beside Elizabeth. "Everybody kept telling me to talk to him, it might help him. Truth is...I didn't think it would, because I figured I was the last person he would want to hear."

Elizabeth snaked her arm around his. "Peter, why on Earth would you think that?"

"I'm the reason he's here. It's my fault he's in the hospital."

"You're right. And instead of beating yourself up about it, you should be happy."

He looked at her incredulously. "Happy?"

She nodded. "You're the reason he's still with us, not the reason he's hurt." Peter stared at the ground, while trying to find ways to keep believing in the blame he had put on himself. "Peter, that man was the one who did this to Neal. You're the one who kept it from being worse. And listen, I know you feel like you should've done more, or could've done more, but do you really think that he went through all of that just for you to feel guilty?"

Peter finally looked up at her and smiled. "I married the most magnificent woman."

He leaned in and kissed her, then leaned back. "And we have one hell of a kid."

* * *

Linda had come and gone, easily denying that she knew where the art book had come from until Peter showed her the note inside that specifically had her name in it.

Now it was just Peter and incoherent Neal.

"H..he bites me, P'ter."

"Who bites you...or what bites you?" The agent asked from his position beside the bed. He was sitting on the edge of the chair, an elbow resting on the mattress so he could hold his head up, the other laying in front of him, just beside Neal's.

"Dog."

Peter raised an eyebrow, smirking ever so slightly just in case Neal was able to tell. "Oh, surely not Satchmo, I hope."

Neal shook his head. "N-no. This...this one'ssss ...big. Scary."

"Hmm." Peter replied, clearly amused. "Why does he bite you?"

"Wants...wants me to be...like him. A...a..."

"A what?" Peter noticed Neal's eyes cloud over a bit and felt the smile fall from his face. "What is it, Neal?"

"A mutt."

Suddenly, the interrogation of the man who had hurt Neal came to his mind. "_Ah, I've been wanting to meet you Agent Burke. You're quite the pet owner. I must say you've really turned that mutt into a charming animal. I mean don't get me wrong, he's still a puppy on a leash, but he's got quite a loyal streak in him."_

Peter swallowed thickly. "Well...next time he tries to bite you...you just tell him that I'm coming for him, huh?"

Neal smiled boyishly. "He doesn't like you."

Peter dramatized being surprised. "Oh?" He couldn't help but smile as Neal nodded eagerly, eyes lazily going in and out of focus.

"P'ter?"

"Yeah?"

"Read?"

The one word question had Peter rolling his eyes, though he was trying not to grin. He picked up the art book and turned to the page he ended on the previous night. He opened his mouth to begin reading, but Neal stopped him.

"Not that."

Peter's eyebrow rose. "What?"

Neal's eyes had slipped shut and for a moment Peter thought he had already fell asleep, until the younger man mumbled, "Baseball."

The agent snorted. "You don't like baseball."

Neal shook his head in agreement with that statement, eyes remaining closed. "But I like Peter...and baseball sounds like Peter."

The older man laughed and shook his head. "Okay, buddy. Okay. Baseball it is."

* * *

**AN: Again, after I lost the first draft of this chapter, retyping this was hard to do. The next chapter will be better! Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think.**


	5. Rock Bottom Part 5

**AN: A huge thank you to everyone for reading, adding this to your lists and reviewing! It means so much! And I'm glad you guys are enjoying this as much as I am enjoying writing it. This story never leaves me alone and I love it. Hope you enjoy this chapter.**

* * *

**Rock Bottom Part 5**

One week later...

Neal stared at the back of his hand, inspecting the needle embedded in his bulging vein drinking up the pain medicine like a potion. The tip of his finger brushed back a ruined corner of the tape holding it in place, before smoothing it back down. He closed his eyes, relishing in the relaxation for only a moment before it was interrupted by a vicious bark. He jumped and opened his eyes back up to the hospital room. The door was ajar now, Peter sliding between the opening with a friendly smile that should have been contagious, but somehow fell short on Neal's part.

"There he is." Peter was beside the bed, setting down a brown paper bag in the floor before shrugging off his jacket and throwing it over the back of the chair. "How're you feeling this morning?"

"Umm, good." Neal's finger picked at the tape again.

"Yeah?" The agent asked, eyes trailing down to watch Neal toy with his IV. Neal noticed and let both of his hands drop down to his sides again, while nodding and only working up the foundation of his thousand watt smile.

"Good. Good." Peter took a deep breath, teeth sinking into his bottom lip for a fraction of a second. "Uh, doctors are going to start weening you off the meds starting tomorrow. You ready for that?"

"Yeah...I mean, I guess we'll see. The sooner that happens, the quicker I get out of here."

Peter nodded and rubbed his hands down his thighs while taking a seat next to the bed. When Neal's gaze wandered back to his hand, Peter snapped his fingers in front of his face. "Hey. You sure you're ok?"

"Mmm hmm." Neal lazily rolled his head back towards Peter.

"Linda told me you didn't sleep much last night. Neal, I know it's only been one night, but if you want me to stay..."

"No, Peter. It's fine. I'm fine. I just...I've slept the past two weeks and I just want to go home."

"Well, you're getting close." He patted the blanket encouragingly where the younger man's knee was covered. "But, in the meantime, I brought something to pass the time."

Neal blinked a few times, trying to rid himself of the sleep calling his name, the dog waiting for him. "What is it?"

Peter was grinning ear to ear as he bent down to pull something out of the brown paper bag. "Courtesy of June and Mozzie." He pulled out a box and held it up for Neal to see. The younger man blinked a second, then started laughing, but stopped abruptly when a fire erupted in his chest from his protesting sternum and ribs. He had to settle for smalls gusts of air as a feeble replacement for laughter. Peter didn't comment, though he noticed.

"Candyland?" Neal asked incredulously, watching Peter take the top off the board game and begin to lay out the board on the table tray. The agent nodded.

"Yep. They thought that you could use a distraction, and this game isn't that hard so I figured even with all the pain meds you could at least keep up."

Neal opened his mouth to respond, then closed it while tilting his head to the side and furrowing his brow. "Is that supposed to be a sentiment or an insult?"

"Maybe I was wrong about the keeping up part." Peter teased, placing two plastic game pawns on the start space.

"Okay, that was definitely an insult."

* * *

Sixteen games later, with Peter trailing behind for the sixteenth time, it was Neal's turn to draw a card. There was an exhausted shake in the ex con's hand when he drew, prompting Peter to silently determine this would be the last game they would play, but then Peter caught it. A slide of hand trick producing the color of card Neal needed to win. The younger man smiled victoriously, but let it fall slowly at the glare he was receiving form Peter.

"What?"

"Don't what me. You've been doing that the whole time." He grumbled, packing up the game and rolling the table tray away from the bed.

"Like you didn't know." Neal shot back, eyes slipping shut. Peter turned back around from moving the table and stood next to the bed. Looking down, he could tell Neal had already fell asleep. Leaning over slightly, he pulled the small stack of Candyland game cards from underneath Neal's blanket.

"Of course, I knew."

* * *

Neal woke with a start, an explosion in his chest throbbing like an echo. He squinted against the bedside lamp's luminance in his small hospital room before taking in his surroundings. The same room he had been in for two weeks, empty and silent besides the annoying clock ticking away and the heart monitor reminding him he was still alive. He went back to staring at his hand, rubbing a finger across where the dog bite should be. Instantaneously, his mind was flooded with images of the beast barking and snarling, ripping him apart while a man stood there and watched him with a satisfied grin, the same man who had hung him up from the rafters. He gasped in surprised and choked on the intake of air, eyes springing open from their closed position he hadn't remembered putting them in. He coughed, adding to the fireworks already going off in his insides. He was able to catch his breath after a few painful moments, but his hand was burning. Looking down, he noticed blood running across his skin in little rivets from the hole where his IV use to be.

He wiped at the blood with his other hand, but more flowed from the wound taking its place. Holding his hands out in disgust, he looked around for some tissues or something, but they were on the table tray on the other side of the room. He looked to the bathroom and realized it was closer, plus he could just wash his hands in the sink. He wiped his bloodied uninjured hand on his hospital issued shirt, leaving a smear of red across his abdomen, before pulling back the blanket. He paused a moment, suddenly realizing he had only got out of bed two days ago for the first time and even then a nurse, or Peter, had helped him (or supported most of his weight) just to the bathroom and back. Regardless, he gingerly slid his legs over the bed and eased off of the mattress. His knees shook instantly, warning him of the bad idea that was about to make this situation a lot worse. '_All you have to do is push the nurse call button, Neal'_ they seemed to say in a tone of voice that played out in Neal's head that sounded remarkably like Peter's.

Somehow, he had made it to the bathroom, but it wasn't any miraculous feat because as soon as he reached the sink and turned on the water, his knees gave out. Thankfully, he was semi-prepared for it, so instead of hitting the floor, he slid down the base of the sink until he was sitting on the cold floor listening to the water run as he stared at his bloody hands. The dog came back, images of his ripped flesh and the dog's mouth with blood staining the foam oozing between his sharp teeth. The beast was barking again, deafening loud. Neal could feel the chill of the floor creep up his spine and he tried to focus his attention on that so he could remain in reality, instead of the horrible layer with the beast. He let his body shiver even though it set off more pain in his ribs and chest, but the chill kept him grounded and after awhile the dog's barks were replaced with the sound of running water, the chill running through him was replaced with warmth on the side of his face and then bloody images were replaced with ones of Peter crouching down in front of him, with a face full of panic.

* * *

"What are you still doing here, Peter?" Linda asked of the agent who had just passed the nurse's station as if she couldn't see him. He stopped and turned on his heel with a smile she assumed he had learned to perfect from Neal.

"Linda!" He greeted, trying to make her believe he hadn't saw her. "I'm just...uh checking on Neal before I leave."

She tilted her head to the side. "At one o'clock in the morning?" She sighed and walked around the desk to stand in front of him. "Peter, I thought you decided that you would start sleeping at your house, with your wife, like a normal person with a normal life and visit Neal during normal visiting hours?"

He stuffed his hands in his pockets while shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly. "Yeah, yeah, I did. I mean, I am. I uh, I was just leaving, but I wanted to check on him before I left."

"I just checked on him. He's sleeping. Soundly. Now go. Go home. To Elizabeth. To your normal life."

Peter chuckled, biting his lip in embarrassment. "Yeah. Yeah, okay. I'm going. Thanks, Linda." Peter turned and made his way towards the exit of the hospital.

* * *

He was standing in the elevator, leaning against the wall of the small enclosed cab. It came to stop on the fifth floor and a young couple stepped on, the woman holding the hand of their son who looked no older than six. The man was on the phone, making arrangements for someone named Tommy to spend the night at the house of whoever he was talking to. Peter watched the boy tug on his mother's skirt from his peripheral vision.

"Mommy?"

The young woman sniffed. "What is it, Tommy?"

"Why are you and Daddy not coming home?" The young woman picked up her son, brushing his dark, curly locks from his face.

"We have to stay with your brother to take care of him."

"Why? I thought the doctors were taking care of him."

The young mother chuckled softly, kissing her boy on the forehead. "They are, but you know how when you're sick and I give you medicine?" The boy nodded. "Well, even though the medicine makes you feel better, don't you still ask for me or daddy to hold you, or read to you, because that makes you feel better, too?"

Tommy nodded again.

"That's why Mommy and Daddy are staying here, sweetheart. Because there are some things that even the best doctors and nurses can't do that parents can. Understand?"

"Yeah." Tommy replied and wrapped his arms around his mother's neck.

The elevator came to a halt on the ground floor and the doors sprang open. The man on the phone stepped out and waited for his wife and son to exit the car. Peter stood still, watching the young family walk towards an elderly lady with outstretched arms while Tommy's mother's words rang in his head. The doors dinged again and began to close, but a man caught the doors and stepped on. He pressed the seventh floor button, which happened to be the same floor Neal's room was on, and then turned to Peter.

"Were you coming down or are you going up?"

Peter stared at him for a second, trying to formulate words.

"Sir?"

"Going...going up. I'm going up."

* * *

Peter stepped off the elevator and made his way back down the familiar hall. He paused just at the corner of the nurse's station, peeking around the corner, not in a creepy way to earn looks from anyone but to see if Linda was there. He saw her, standing by the file folders. She grabbed one and headed down the opposite hall, heading in the opposite direction of Neal's room. Peter smiled and quickly made his way to Neal's room so she wouldn't see him.

He slowly opened the door, though once he caught a look inside Neal's room, he probably would have hit the floor had he not had such a tight grip on the door.

Neal's bed was empty. He was about to turn around and call out for a nurse, but the sound of running water coming from the bathroom caught his attention. Without notifying anyone, he crossed to the bathroom in three quick strides and once again felt his knees go weak. There was Neal, eyes closed, sitting underneath the running sink, body wracking with shivers and blood smeared on his hospital provided clothing.

Peter leaned forward and turned the faucet off so the water wouldn't overflow, before dropping to his knees in front of the younger man. He placed a hand at the side of Neal's face.

"Neal? Hey! Neal, look at me. Come on, Neal."

Slowly, but surely, blue eyes were looking back at him with such uncertainty that the agent was almost tempted to look down at himself to see if he was actually visible.

"Neal? You with me? Say something?"

"W...wa...wash...hands." Neal stuttered with the shivers running through him. He pulled his hands out of their protective cradle against his stomach to show the agent.

"What?" Peter grasped Neal's wrists and inspected his hands. He found the one that was bleeding, dropped the other for the time being and pressed down on the slowly bleeding wound. "Jesus, Neal. What happened? Did you pull out your IV? Were you trying to leave? Neal, I can't believe-"

"No!" Neal cut him off, shaking his head furiously. "No, I didn't. I...I wasn't. Honest, Peter! I wasn't. I swear."

"Okay, okay. Just...just...let's get you back to bed, first. Then we will go from there. Are you hurt anywhere else besides your hand? How did you end up on the floor? Did you fall?"

Neal chuckled lightly, hanging his head and closing his eyes, as he listened to Peter fire off questions. He felt Peter's hand underneath his chin and opened his eyes.

"Hey. Stay with me. Answer me."

"I'm...fine. I didn't fall. I just got tired. I was trying to wash my hands."

"You should've pushed the nurse's call button."

Neal smiled, though Peter found nothing funny about the situation. "Knew you'd say that."

"And yet, you didn't do it." Peter shot back, maneuvering himself to pull Neal to his feet.

He got the younger man standing wobbly on unstable, uncoordinated feet and apologized for each wince that he caused to appear on Neal's face. He started to tug the injured man in the direction of the bed, but Neal protested.

"Wash...hands."

"Linda will clean you up, okay? You need to be back in bed."

"No...please, Peter."

Those three little words would be nothing more than a stubborn plea to anyone who didn't know the young man, but Peter realized the need for independence in those words and nodded. He guided Neal back to the sink and turned it on. He dropped his arm from around Neal's shoulders, but kept his hand hovering at his back just in case, while the man gently rubbed his hands together underneath the water. Once the red stains disappeared, Peter turned off the faucet and handed Neal a paper towel to dry his hands off with. With that complete, he handed him another one to keep over the still slightly bleeding wound on the back of his hand and finally walked him back to the bed.

* * *

Neal sat on the edge of the bed panting, though trying not to, through the worsening pain in his body. He was starting to realize just how great medicine was. He tried to focus on Peter pressing the nurse call button. He must have zoned out because the next thing he knew Peter was easing him into another hospital shirt and Linda was placing a band-aid on his hand and reaching for his other to start a new IV.

They eased him back down to lay on the bed and pulled the blankets up over him. They were standing over him, on either side, lips moving but he couldn't hear them. A few more seconds went by and he was asleep.

* * *

"Did he pull it out?" Linda asked, as they watched Neal succumb to sleep once more. Peter shook his head.

"Not on purpose. But I don't know what happened. I just came in and found him sitting on the bathroom floor."

Linda nodded and went about checking Neal's vitals. Once she was satisfied with the results, she turned back to Peter.

"Don't get me wrong, I'm glad you didn't leave, but I thought you were going home."

"I was, but..." He trailed off.

"But what?"

"I was in the elevator and-" he paused and looked at her then back at Neal. "Earlier, you told me to go home to my normal life. Well, I don't have a normal life and the person responsible for that is stuck here in this hospital." He shrugged and shook his head. "I don't want a normal life, Linda."

She smiled thoughtfully. "There's a fresh pillow and blanket for you in the closet. I put them there this morning."

* * *

**AN: Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think!**


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